Growing Young
by Chloe3
Summary: The “Alone and Unloved” scene from the motion picture “Peter Pan” (2003) from Peter’s perspective. WARNING: Angst!


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TO THOSE WHO READ MY LOTR FICS: Just a quick note to say, I am working VERY hard on Ranimar, and hope to finish-and-post it soon, so I can get started on the one after it. ;) I'll be posting an LOTR-vignette I wrote later on to let you know when I'm hoping to get Ranimar on ff.net. Thank you all for waiting so patiently! -Chloe

Title: Growing Young

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By: Chloe the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, also being the 3rd of the "Wright Sisters" ;)

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Feedback: Yes please! You can email me at: evenstar47hotmail.com and of course, fan fiction feedback is ALWAYS welcome! :D

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Rated: PG (for angst, and some violence)

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Summery: The "Alone and Unloved" scene from the motion picture "Peter Pan" (2003) from Peter's perspective.

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Spoilers: MAJOR spoilers for the movie, if you haven't seen it. None whatsoever for the book OR cartoon, though. :)

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Disclaimers: I don't own the rights to Peter Pan (the original story) or any of the characters OR any of the segments from the motion picture's script. But I'm not getting paid, so that should be fine. ;)

Also, the song "Growing Young" (which I am paraphrasing slightly) is the sole property of Rich Mullins, and I don't have permission for that either. :)

Dedication: To Daddy, who took me to see Peter Pan a second time, and only elbowed me ONCE for bouncing up and down in my seat while chanting with Wendy and the Lost Boys: "I DO believe in fairies! I DO! I DO!" ;)

To my family (mostly Sarah, Hannah and Emily) for putting up with my Peter Pan fandom, even when I started pasting pictures of it all over my wall, and saying "I BELIEVE" at odd intervals. :D

To Tara-Marie, a fellow believer (grin) and one of the biggest Peter Pan fans I know! hands Tara a Mt Dew

And finally, to the nice key-copying guy at Lowes, who after being asked one of the STRANGEST questions ever, by a 15-year-old nut grin answered kindly that "Sure", he did believe in fairies. ;)

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Growing Young

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I've gone so far from my home

I've seen the world and I have known

So many secrets

I wish now I did not know

'Cause they have crept into my heart

They have left it cold and dark

And bleeding

Bleeding and falling apart

…and growing young

Rich Mullins

Falling.

It was so, so far to fall. Miles upon miles to the deck of the Jolly Rodger. So long to wait and anticipate terribly the pain that would ensue once descent turned to lying in agony, still and unmoving. So many times had he lifted from the ground, propelled by his happiest thoughts and recollections, and so many times had he controlled the return to solid ground.

But now there was no control. There was nothing to hold him up. Not a thought in his head could give him the wings he needed to fly. In fact, each thought that haunted him seemed to weigh his body even faster to the ground, and yet though he fell heavier, time refused to let the fall end quickly.

He was a stone in the ocean. A rounded pebble that had no destination, and no one waiting where it fell. Alone in where life drove it, and overlooked by any that once cared. No one cared. No one.

The sound of Peter's small body hitting the great ship's deck was silenced in his own ears. He was sure it was a very loud landing, and yet all he could hear was the pounding agony in his head, chest, knees, wrists…everything throbbed with unfamiliar ache.

But the ache in Peter's body, young though he was, and strong though the torment had become, could never overpower the beat of his inconsolable heart. Hook's words, those hatefully sympathetic words, echoed angrily in his ears.

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"Your Wendy was leaving you. Why should she stay? What have you to offer? You are incomplete…"

Wendy's voice mingled with Hook's, breaking even deeper into Peter's hurt emotions.

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"You are both ungallant and deficient…you're just a boy."

The comparison of her wounded admonishment and Hook's mocking compassion was such a dramatic one, that it hurt Peter's ears to have the two in the same memory.

Hook's cruel tones cut deeply.

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"The window is closed."

"I'll open it."

"I'm afraid the window's barred."

"I'll call out her name!"

"She can't hear you."

"No…"

"She can't see you."

"Wendy!"

"She's forgotten all about you."

"Stop! Please, stop it!"

Peter could hear his memory's voice cracking, as he didn't realize it had before. _Wendy_, he cried, his heart throbbing. _Wendy!_

"You're just a boy…" Wendy's blue eyes were wide, and pleading in his memory's eye. _Realize, Peter. You're just a boy. Can't you see it? Youth isn't bliss after all…didn't you know that?_

Real life came suddenly back to the boy lying on Jolly Rodger's deck. Peter felt the tip of a sword press against his throat. He ached. He didn't want to move, to see. Couldn't he close his eyes? Wouldn't it make it all go away if he closed his eyes? But though the fantasy of shutting out the world with eyelids is easy in a quiet mind, the pirate sword was too real and too cold to ignore.

And Peter was too proud even now to close his eyes and show his fear.

Slowly, oh why so slowly? Peter raised his head. He looked into sapphire; the triumphant, cold and cruel eyes of Captain James Hook. The boy didn't flinch, but rose gradually, the cold steel of a pirate's weapon ever tight against his throat.

He could felt a deep pit of shame somewhere in his chest. He, Peter Pan, defeated? No. Never. He was the heartbeat of Neverland, the friend of every fairy, foe of everything that stood against the very nature of childhood. He was, in essence, the chance of youth itself.

With his flute, he had called on mermaids, enchanted stars, sung with the vast nothing of wind, and stood upon the clouds in blissful flight. This was his world, his land, his life. All that he was rested in the trees and waters of Neverland. His home.

Peter Pan? Defeated in Neverland? Wasn't it impossible? Wasn't it against reason? It had to be. If it wasn't…what was it that he was giving Wendy up for? An empty island neither friendly nor hostile? Another make-believe fantasy that in the end, would mean nothing, and no eye would see anyway.

Peter's hands were pressed against the deck, his eyes still locked on Hook's, though perhaps he'd broken contact once, not that he could recall.

It was still easily memorable, the time when Peter's gaze on Hook's was an easy combination of free youth against imprisoned age. Peter and Hook had lived for the battle they fought. Hook against Peter, Peter against Hook. A constant fight of youth versus age, that was the way it was supposed to be. The way it was built to be.

But now…now the boy's eyes were not free, proud nor joyous. They gazed upwards from somewhere so close to the deck, so far down, looking so high up, to the pirate towering above him. He needn't have worried about shutting his eyes…his fear showed anyway.

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"You're just a boy."

It was then that it donned on Peter; Being a child forever didn't just mean forever young…it meant forever smaller, weaker…stupider, perhaps. He was just a boy. Just a child at the feet of everything he'd been avoiding for years. Growing up. Having to be tall. Making decisions. Giving up fun for responsibility.

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"I want always to be a boy and have fun."

Wasn't that the ultimate happiness?

His knees were against the deck now, hurting terribly with bruises, and barely strong enough to hold his aching body off the deck. He hated the cold steel that pressed against his throat, that made his head tilt back, and his eyes fix on Hook's.

He felt belittled by the tall pirate. The pirate that had been so right. Peter couldn't keep the look in his eyes away. He wanted to fight it, but how, oh how could he ever deny the truth he knew? Hook was right…

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"Your Wendy was leaving you…you are incomplete."

The truth hurt more than Peter's head. He wished his eyes weren't such clear, un-shuttered windows to his emotions, for now he felt the truth hit him hard, and it showed clearly in his blue gaze. The gaze Hook easily looked into like a curious child into a glass box with some uncovered secret there. Unhidden were Peter's thoughts.

He was right. Hook was right. The words were so hatefully readable in Peter's eyes.

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Why? Why, James Hook? Why could you not let me win this time as ever. Isn't that how it works? What is there if I lose? What is there for me? For Wendy? For John, Michael, the Lost Boys? This is my whole heart, here in what there is of Neverland.

If you destroy my heart, what is there left for me?

Stop! Please, stop it!

Peter unwillingly realized he was begging. In his eyes was a plea, a request, a pathetically vulnerable appeal. He couldn't erase it, though. He couldn't blink it away. He didn't have the strength to get rid of it or at least cover it up.

There was no façade for him this time. No blanket to throw over the glass case of his wounded emotions. He felt exposed for what he was.

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"You're just a boy."

The soles of his feet touched the deck at last, and he felt the pain shoot up to his knees. Despite the calluses that had formed over his bare feet throughout the timeless years here in Neverland, those same feet seemed so tender and painful right now…maybe they were cut or bruised like the rest of him. Maybe he didn't care.

The blade still held tightly against his throat, but suddenly, he couldn't feel it very well. His thoughts were elsewhere. On the figure he somehow knew was just over his shoulder, standing unsure and trembling, watching Peter Pan, the brave Peter Pan, the hero of Neverland, the boy who never had to be a man, the sure and cocky Peter Pan…beaten. Completely.

Wendy…oh, Wendy, why? Why did she have to ruin it all. And after all those words of love, of feelings, of growing up…she turned on him. She didn't want him. Why should she? He was just a boy. Look at him now! More a child than ever he had been. But not with the childlike joys of youth, but the vulnerability of a one who is too young yet for the many things in this old world.

Peter realized blankly that he was finally standing on his own feet, though it didn't feel how it should. Having both feet on anything sure and solid was supposed to induce courage into the frightened heart, and yet it only showed that even standing, Peter was too small. Too young.

He had a chance to breathe perhaps once, and then Hook lunged a second time at him, sending him flying backwards. His head smacked harshly against the mainmast, and he stood dazed for a precious couple seconds before Hook had caught up with him yet again, crabbing him by the throat, and pinning him hard against the mainmast, cutting off his oxygen for a moment. The world spun in a tight circle, making Peter's eyes glaze slightly.

He thought he heard Wendy cry out, but maybe it was his imagination. Or maybe it wasn't Wendy at all, but rather some shout of triumph from a pirate…he felt so dizzy, so sick, so tired of trying, that he didn't really care to know where Wendy was, or if she was crying…he didn't think he could care anymore, anyway.

Then, with blinding speed, the Captain shot forward with his hook, catching its target with deadly accuracy. Peter gripped his forehead with both hands, feeling Hook's wound numbly as his skull throbbed, and fell to his knees. He panted maybe twice. Perhaps only once.

James Hook soon stood just behind Peter, gripping the boy's dirty-blonde hair in an iron grip. If Peter could see the pirate's face, he was sure he could picture the look of satisfaction on it. And though he could not see it, it burned him somewhere deep to know it was there.

"You die alone," Hook hissed at last, the words cutting so deep, Peter nearly gasped. But he didn't have the breath to gasp. He just stared ahead, the words sinking in harshly, and gradually making painfully perfect sense. At that moment, the pirate made a sudden move to the side. Peter couldn't see him, but his aching mind was all ready dreading what it was that the man was looking at. What he was thinking.

"And unloved," he hissed triumphantly, and Peter's heart reeled as though his emotions had somehow been struck. He hated the pirate more than ever just then…he had no right to make the boy hurt more than he did. He had no RIGHT to speak of Wendy…no right to state…

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The truth, Pan. That's why you hate Hook for what he's done to you…because his words are true. And you know they are true. Because you do not feel loved. You are NOT loved.

Peter's head was suddenly jerked to the side, till the boy's eyes were on Wendy's. He didn't want to look at Wendy, he didn't want to see here. Not right now…not ever again…but he had no choice. So he watched her silently, having now wish to veil his wounded feelings this time.

His eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and pain was etched on his young features as he spoke his heart to the girl's eyes.

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I'm sorry, Wendy…I'm sorry I'm just a boy. But I taught you to fly, Wendy. How could you leave? I taught you to fight and fly, I showed you fairies dance, I took your hand and so danced with you, then. What does growing up have for you that I can't give you?

Why don't you love me, Wendy?

Why don't you love me?!

Wendy's vision was clouded with tears, and as she closed her eyes and turned away, they spilled down her cheeks like silky raindrops. The pirate, who had at some point Peter wasn't aware of taken hold of Wendy, twisted the girl's head to the side, forcing her to meet Peter's eyes.

Peter was almost grateful, perhaps. Because he was desperate to know the answer. He was desperate to understand. He HAD to know.

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Why, Wendy? Please…please tell me why.

I must grow up, Peter.

Why?

I must.

Wendy…why?

I…I don't know.

Hook jerked Peter's eyes away from Wendy once again, holding his silver, pick-sharp hook to the boy's throat. He leaned close, and he whispered, his voice low, and not as triumphant as once it had been, "Just like me."

Before he could blink, Hook lunged a final time, and somehow, a way Peter did not recall, he shoved the boy off his knees to land hard on the deck. The world tipped slowly with Peter, and perhaps it was not just he that felt so. All of Neverland set itself off balance by the boy's despair. By his defeat.

His landing on the deck made no sound in his keen ears. He just landed. Hit. Rolled over to the side, and lay on his back, dazed. He looked at nothing, felt nothing…not even the pain in his forehead. He didn't look for Wendy. He didn't look back at Hook. But lay still.

As though dead, with his crystal eyes open and unseeing.

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Alone.

Unloved.

Crueler words were never uttered. Truth had never before been so painful.

And for a moment, it occurred to Peter that he might never see Wendy's face again, now. For the briefest of seconds, he told him self he didn't care if he never saw her. But something deeper than the surface where grudges and bitterness are stored, turned his head to the side to see the girl's eyes again.

She was crying. They were not tears waiting to be shed, but her throat was constricted. It looked as though she wasn't breathing, just putting every emotional effort into the tears that streamed from her eyes. Perhaps she shed them on purpose. Perhaps she could not hold them back.

And during the course of one heartbeat, Peter dared to hope that Wendy's tears were for him. Were for the fear that he would die feeling this way. That perhaps…perhaps she cared more than Hook knew?

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No. Don't be a fool, Peter.

Wasn't it possible? Couldn't she maybe, somehow, possibly feel for him?

But the poisonous voice haunted him once more, with words of bitter contempt, and of disappointment. _She cries for her own life. She fears for her brothers, for her precious life of growing up. Wendy doesn't love you, Peter._

…yes… Peter's head spun, and on his face appeared a bitterly contented half-smile. _I know it._

I just thought…perhaps…I was wrong. The voice in his head was gasping in pain. Perhaps of the heart, perhaps he could feel his wounds after all…perhaps it just gasped for air like a drowning child, and maybe he was dying all ready. _I was a fool, wasn't I? To think of it…to think that she'd want me. Wasn't I?_

You are deficient, incomplete.

I know. I know it now…but I hate it.

Alone. Unloved.

Stop. Just leave me alone.

Deficient. Incomplete.

Leave me alone!

Wendy's voice…far, far away…_"You're just a boy."_

Just a boy.

Ordinary boy.

Youth had nothing to offer him after all.

How strange.

Hook was yelling, pulling back his hooked hand to strike. To kill. At last, Peter swung his head around slowly to meet Hook's eyes. Blue as forget-me-nots, but now with a red at the center that was only apparent before he killed, so the tales said, though the color had never been so red before.

Peter's bitterly satisfied smile widened a fraction, as he saw his defeat coming towards him at the speed of light. It hurt. Oh yes, it hurt to be unloved. It made his heart pound in his ears to know he was going to die. He wished harder than ever that he could fall into forever sleep without the hook finding its mark, and causing more pain.

Yes, Peter was afraid of hurting anymore, and he was afraid to die.

But at least he understood what would happen. At least, for once, it was nothing that could entangle his heart in questions. The answer was obvious.

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You die alone. And unloved.

Hook. The sworn enemy of children anywhere. The lion in a cage…about to kill his butterfly at last. Well that was just fine. No better way to leave than this, right? Leave like the hero he'd always known he was!

…but he was alone…all alone…and…

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And unloved.

Where were his glorious, cutting remarks that made trifles of even death? Surely, surely he was the same boy with the same cunning! But what was he to think…To be unloved was a great adventure? No. It wasn't anything of the sort.

It just hurt a great deal.

And then…the red light in Hook's eyes died away. His hook did not come down. Someone had stopped it. Someone…Wendy…

Wendy had stopped him from killing Peter. A strand of hope lighted and then faded in the boy's heart. _Your Wendy was leaving you…why should she stay?_

But…if Wendy did not love him, then why…oh why would she save him…?

A dull thud. Wendy was beside Peter. Hook was speaking too, but there were no words to discern. Wendy wrapped a hand around Peter's shoulder. "Peter," she whispered, but her words were lost.

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Wendy, I know, all right? I know all ready what you have to say to me, and I do not wish to hear it!

"I'm sorry I must grow up."

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Please, just leave me alone…I cannot hurt more than I do, Wendy.

"…this is yours," she was saying, but then she was gone. Hook had pulled her away somewhere…somewhere beyond where Peter was willing to look. _Look ahead, _he told himself, _If you look at no one, no one can hurt you anymore. No one. _Yes…yes that was it. He wouldn't let his eyes be windows anymore. He'd pull the shutters over them. No one would see how much he hurt.

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Oh yes, he thought bitterly. _Yes…the cleverness of me. _And he didn't feel a word of it.

Wendy. Wendy was just above him, just where he was trying not to look. He couldn't help himself. He met her eyes. In the light of the rising moon, her skin looked flawless, and her eyes were like stars themselves, for they still shown with tears.

Her gaze seemed to glide closer and closer to his, until they had slipped past his vision, and he was looking instead into her tousled hair.

Having Wendy so close again felt better…her hair smelled like wildflowers…though Peter had never been the kind to smell flowers, he knew that must be how the would smell. Like a pale blossom with warm air rushing past it, caring half the fragrance, and leaving half of it behind, so that the smell would be saved, and not overbearing.

…but Peter still fought hard to shield himself from further pain, and tried to shut out all emotions that had begun to flood to the surface again.

Wendy's cheek touched his, and her breath tickled his ear, as she began to whisper. "This belongs to you," she said quietly, her voice steady and sure, "and always will."

Her fist slowly opened, and she pressed a warm palm against his cheek. Peter's eyes fluttered to and back from Wendy's hand. He was confused. So he didn't dare blink.

He watched Wendy's eyes with his own, her gaze a window she had not yet learned to close, as open as the window in her room. The window that stayed open for her forever, until she returned…until she returned.

Even if ever Peter could save her life, or his own, Wendy would still return home. She would still leave him. She would still never love him.

And yet, as these thoughts crowded his whirling mind, he looked deeply into Wendy's open eyes…and was surprised to find what he did there. It wasn't hate. It wasn't disappointment. It wasn't even fear. It wasn't any of the things Peter was feeling. Not one of them.

Her head tilted, her eyes closed at last, like glass drapes over a perfect window into some beautiful room. And then…

Peter was sure he'd forgotten what a real kiss was…when Wendy gave him his metal finger-cap, he'd been confused, but never really sure why…and now? The tiniest memory, so small it could very well have been a daydream instead, came into his mind.

A women standing over him, the feel of her lips still on his forehead. _"A kiss means love, Peter. I love you so much, my darling…sweet dreams."_

Peter's mouth was dry…Mother. Her eyes were blue, like his, but unlike him, her hair was dark. Dark as the tree trunks drenched in rain. She smiled, and hidden in the upper right corner of her mouth…there it was. The kiss. It made her smile more brilliant, and her eyes brighter. It made her laughter all the sweeter…it made her look young.

As the memory began to fade once more, retreating to the back Peter's mind where he tucked away most things he claimed 'forgotten' rather than 'put away', the boy looked at Wendy long and hard. And he realized…there was no difference between her and that long-ago women. Her and Mother looked so…so similar, in the eyes at least.

Wendy, young in age, and yet becoming a women in her heart. And Mother, not so young as once she was, but still at her heart…forever a child. Was it possible? Was there really a difference between small age and youth?

Could you really grow young…?

Wendy's eyes opened, and in them, the message in her heart was clear. _'Tis no kiss, 'tis no thimble. It doesn't have a name, no one can explain it. And I give you it, because I love you, Peter Pan._

And Peter believed her. Wendy's eyes were stronger than ever they had been…Wendy, unlike Peter, who would never grow up, actually knew and understood what a child would never completely grasp. What even most grownups don't understand.

Love.

Wendy understood love.

Wendy _did_ love.

She loved Peter.

And as she was pulled off of the wounded boy, by who cared whom, Peter's eyes became windows once more to his feelings, and windows of such glass that reflected the world above him as well. _I am loved._ He smiled, the light of the stars reflected in his eyes.

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I am loved!

Later

The Lost Boys and the Darlings mingled into one, great hug, laughing, some crying, by and by there was a tremendously kind word spoken, and then both laughing and crying.

There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a strange boy who was staring in at the window. Peter Pan had countless delights that other children never can know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be forever barred.

Peter watched as Mr. Darling romped about with three boys clambering on and off of his back in what he called a 'pony-ride'.

So…it's true, Peter thought, quietly. _You really can grow young. You can be old and young at heart…growing up, perhaps, isn't such an evil after all…? Maybe…maybe I could…_

"To live…would be an awfully big adventure," Peter murmured, and it made his heart lift just a little.

But no. Peter's life was no longer here. It was in Neverland with the fairies, with the mermaids, with the beasts and birds, with the wolves and Indians, and with the pirates he knew would never be completely gone. Without Peter, all that would wilt away, and where would children go for the youth that sometimes they need to escape to?

No, for Peter Pan, there really was no going back.

Maybe he'd known that all along.

At that moment, Tinker Bell approached him, chirping in her 'jingle-bell' voice, something such as "let's go!"

Peter glanced at her, and just almost smiled, trying to keep the tears in his eyes away. Silly boy, crying over what he'd never wanted anyway…or a least what he'd always thought he never wanted. He sniffed, and looked back into the window, biting back his tears.

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"You say so, but I think it is your biggest pretend."

Yes, Wendy was right. All these timeless, countless years, trying to avoid what he didn't want, just to realize that maybe he wanted it after all. Having fun couldn't heal a wounded heart. Never in a thousand years.

Yes, Wendy, once again, had been the smarter one. And she, along with her brothers and the Lost Boys, would realize the full reward of not running away. Of staying where they belonged and growing up, forever keeping their hearts of youth. That was their place and their blessing.

But Peter's place was not here. Not by the Darling's window, at least not now.

Tink approached him again, this time with a violin conjured up from fairy dust, and pulled the bow screechingly across the strings. He couldn't help himself. Peter smiled, and pushed away from the window to leave. "You're right, Tink. Let's go," he whispered, and followed the ball of light away from the Darling's window. _You have to let go sometime, Pan. Might as well now._

"Peter!"

Peter halted at the sound of Wendy's voice, and turned abruptly. She was standing by the window, her hands against its frame, and her eyes wide and beautiful in the moonlight.

"You won't forget me, will you?" She pleaded at last.

"Me? Forget?" And Peter grinned, shaking his head slightly, his tone sweetened with the kindness he was not afraid to show anymore, at least not to Wendy, who knew him best. "Never."

Wendy smiled too, and Peter hovered a moment. Oh, why did it have to be so hard to say goodbye? Finally, he waved weakly, in a sort of half-hearted farewell, turned away to go, before he tried to change his mind, or considered staying longer, for he knew he couldn't do it.

But the girl's voice called him to turn again. "Will you come back?"

He paused. _Will you, Peter? Can you? Do you think you can take watching Wendy grow? Or watching the life you don't have? Will you come back?_

Then, his grin returned, a bit of the old sparkle back in his crystal blue eyes, and he nodded. "To hear stories," he said finally, and then the grin widened cockily. "About me!" And at last, he turned, Tink making golden fairy-dust circles around him, and flew towards the star-decked heavens.

What would he do when he returned to Neverland? he wondered. Hook wasn't dead, that was certain. He'd be back, just as the clock in his crock kept on ticking, James Hook would be back, aye. And then? Who knew? The future was just waiting. A timeless, everlasting future.

And of course, there would be always a chance to come back and hear Wendy tell stories…always. And at that happy thought, Peter became light as the starlight itself, and soared up past the heavens, looking to any below like a shooting star that was especially fast.

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"You're just a boy."

True! But neither deficient nor incomplete. For Peter Pan was loved.

And his laughter echoed over the sky.

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The End


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